Rescue Me (14 page)

Competition can be a good thing. If only I knew the rules of the game.

—HOLLY

S
HIVERING, MARY HANNAH
tugged her black knit hat over her ears as she walked down the steps to meet the Roberts family for a training session with Barkley. They'd called her from the front security gate. She watched as they drove down the long, icy drive in their new van designed for a wheelchair.

The past couple of weeks had been a hectic rush of seeing clients during office hours, plus working in the evening and on weekends to prepare Holly and Barkley for the My Furry Valentine Mutt Makeover. They had a month left, and Holly was having nothing to do with the agility course.

Just seeing her happy and playful, though? Mary Hannah found that to be a bigger victory than jumping over any PVC pipe.

Her snow boots crunched into the snow at the base of the stairs. The Saturday-morning sun crested, reflecting noon rays off the fresh dusting of snow. She would begin the training session outside and finish inside the barn. While Holly was already living at AJ's, Barkley had been staying at the Second Chance Ranch until today. Declan Roberts had been released from the hospital yesterday, and this afternoon, he and Callie would officially take their foster dog home and continue with training in their house until the competition.

She hoped. Declan was still proving difficult.

She'd been so certain this would get through to him. The patient she'd paired with Thumbelina had made amazing progress once the sweet, goofy pit-bull pup entered the equation.

The Robertses' van stopped in the parking area beside the red barn, Callie driving. The side door of the vehicle opened automatically. Declan sat in his wheelchair, the lift sliding out and lowering him. He'd been fitted with a prosthetic arm last week. The leg would come later, once he had better use of the new arm for balance. But he could make only so much progress if his morale stayed at rock bottom.

Henry unhooked the restraints on his car seat and clambered into the front and out the door, swaddled in a hooded snowsuit. He tore off with the energy of a four-year-old forced to spend too much time indoors in winter. He flung himself on the ground and swept his arms and legs back and forth, making a snow angel.

Callie stepped around to her husband as he maneuvered the electric controls to the lift until it settled on the ground. His chair was battery powered, and he steered it forward with his hand, the wheels bumping along the handicapped parking area, shoveled clear, then onto the salted walkway. It wasn't easy or quick, but he managed, his jaw tight, his eyes fiery with stung pride. Her profession made it too easy to read people's thoughts through their eyes.

Watching him struggle was painful but necessary. He had to learn independence. But the tougher part for him seemed to be accepting that he needed to depend on his family as well. Allow them to help, to feel connected, to be a part of their family's journey to health.

Tucking inside the barn door, she waved hello to a couple of volunteers before leaning over a fenced area to scoop up Barkley. The cuddly Cairn was the perfect little student, smart, trainable and, most important, empathetic. The dog was a natural. Mary Hannah just prayed that once the competition was past, they would decide to adopt him and allow Barkley to continue his training to become a fully certified service dog.

She stepped back out of the warm barn into the crisp winter air. Henry was under a tree now, making his fourth snow angel. His giggles filled the air along with barks from a couple of dogs in the play yard. Between Sierra's pregnancy and this little boy, Mary Hannah's heart was getting a serious stomping. And she felt guilty as hell over that. Especially since Sierra and Mike would be returning home tomorrow and there'd barely been time to visit—or maybe she'd been dodging them on purpose.

Totally unfair of her to do. She had to put that vulnerability with children aside when working with the Roberts family.
Deep breaths.

Declan powered his chair to the side area they used for training. “Henry, are you going to help or not, son?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy pushed to his feet, the puffy snowsuit making balance a precarious thing. “I just gotta get the bag of dog treats outta the van.”

Henry waddle-ran to his mom, and she passed him a bag of Cheerios. He dashed back to Mary Hannah. “I have my treats, Ms. Gallo. Barkley likes treats. I give him Cheerios, one for him and one for me, when he does something right.” He leaned closer to her. “I gave one to Dad, too, but he said no thank you.”

Mary Hannah knelt in front of him, dusting the snow from his arms and hood. “We can't make people do things they don't want to.”

“Like how Barkley can't do the water trick 'cuz he's scared of baths?”

“Exactly. We'll just figure out what works best for Barkley.”

Henry placed his mittened hands on Mary Hannah's arm and whispered in her ear, “My dad likes to throw the ball.”

A longing coated that simple request. Professional distance was tough at moments like this. Damn tough. “Then we will ask him to do that part of your routine.”

Henry hesitated, something else clearly weighing on his young mind. He scuffed his Thomas the Tank snow boots along the ground. “Do ya think Mom and Dad will let me keep Barkley?”

“That's not for me to say. You have to talk with them.” She glanced at the couple by the gate. Callie stood with her arms wrapped so tightly around herself she must have cut off her own circulation. Declan ignored the cute little scrap of fur racing circles around his chair.

Henry shook his bag of Cheerios
.
“But you can 'suade them. You make people be smarter without even using treats.” He shook the bag again. “You make them get better inside their heads.”

“I don't make them, sweetie. I help them understand life so they can be happier.”

“Having Barkley at my house forever would make me happier.”

“How about we focus on today and teach Barkley how to jump through hoops over there in the exercise yard?” She nodded to the smaller play area that held the new agility equipment AJ and Mike had built. “That's like an obstacle course, um, a playground. We're going to work more on his act with some new equipment our volunteers made. And most important, we need for him to know all the steps and not be distracted by noises.”

They'd already taught Barkley to sit, stay and walk on a leash. This would take the training to the next level, thanks to the new gear AJ had taken the lead in building.

Henry shuffle-ran in his bulky suit to the agility course while shaking the bag of cereal. “Barkley, come play, Barkley, come. We're gonna have fun.”

As she joined him, her hands in her pockets, Mary Hannah couldn't help but check farther across the field, where she spotted AJ driving toward his cabin. His training session would come later, after she finished with Barkley. She'd spent so much time avoiding AJ because of the one-night stand and his brooding, she'd missed his good qualities. Knowing him made things more complicated, but ignoring him was no longer an option.

Her gaze gravitated right back to his cabin across the field.

AJ opened his door, his voice carrying on the wind as he called, “Holly, let's go outside, girl.”

Holly bounded out, a blur of brown fur and energy. He'd made progress with her. She no longer had to be coaxed to walk outside with him. She enjoyed the freedom of running in the yard, sniffing and exploring. He tossed a ball for her and she chased it. But she hadn't yet mastered the art of picking it up and bringing it back. Baby steps.

Still, watching AJ truly give his all to working with Holly touched her heart. Even his insistence that the boxer enjoyed television game shows, although she still thought that was an excuse to chill in his chair and split a burger with Holly while channel-surfing.

The image was so precious and heart tugging, she had to force her focus back on her current trainees.

Callie strode with confident long strides, her bright yellow parka, hat and boots a perfectly matched ski-bunny set that almost hid how much weight she'd lost. No doubt her nails were manicured underneath.

The young mother and wife smiled, her makeup almost covering the dark circles and strain lines. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing yet. Barkley and Henry should run some of their pent-up energy off first so they'll be able to focus.”

“I don't want to take too much of your time.”

“Please don't give it another thought. I love my work.”

“If you're sure . . .” Callie acquiesced before joining her son.

The whir of the electric wheelchair warned Mary Hannah that Declan was joining them. The rattle as he jostled along the concrete walkway would have tempted some to offer help. She knew he would rather fall out of the chair than accept assistance, so she waited.

He stopped beside her, wearing a Chicago Cubs parka, shiny new. “I know you think we're going to keep the mutt after the competition. But you're wrong.”

She didn't take the bait. “You don't like dogs?”

“It's not that. I'll hang out with the dog for four more weeks, like the doc orders, and that's it.”

“You have to do more than hang out. You've got to help train him—you, me and Henry. You and Henry have to reinforce what I show him. I evaluate his progress. And you present your routine at the My Furry Valentine competition.”

“You're going to put me, my kid and the dog on display,” he snapped bitterly.

“You're going to compete.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He massaged the metal clamp at the end of his prosthetic arm. “But after that, the dog goes back to you and finds another home.”

“You've never had a dog?” She pressed on, deliberately oblivious. “Don't worry, that's why I'm here, to help you. To train the dog and give you any care tips you need. I wrote my master's thesis on training therapy dogs. But to be precise, he is acting as your emotional-support animal—your ESA.”

“Emotional support,” he sneered. “I know what it means, but it still sounds like a blanket and a cup of tea.”

She looked over at him and stared without speaking. Silence was a mighty tool sometimes, far better than a wealth of words.

“Okay, fine, my apologies for being flippant.” He looked at his son and wife playing with Barkley, running him up and down a wooden hill. “What's the difference between an emotional-support animal and therapy animal?”

Ah, finally she'd piqued his interest. She rocked back on her heels, keeping her eyes on Callie and Henry, a subtle thing, but she knew if she made eye contact with Declan, he would shut down. It was sad noticing similarities between humans and dogs, but she couldn't escape the truth. Eye contact could be confrontational. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tennis ball.

“Therapy dogs and service dogs are working animals,” she explained, tossing the ball up and catching it. “They require extensive training, often more than a year's worth. They have access anywhere. An emotional-support animal is one that provides ease to a patient—documentation of the patient's need is provided by a physician. Emotional-support animals do have rights. They can't be banned by a landlord, but they are not given unlimited access to public buildings.”

“Really?” He half glanced her way before catching himself and looked back at his son and wife.

“Really.” She pitched and caught the tennis ball again. “And just to clarify, trying to pass off an animal as a service dog, therapy dog, or ESA is a crime and does a grave disservice to the animals that are providing crucial care to people with disabilities.”

“Understood.” He nodded, massaging the spot where his prosthetic arm met the stub. “So if we take Barkley long term, I'm only getting an ESA.”

“That's up to you. Barkley is smart enough to be a full-fledged service dog.”
Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.
“I would hate to see him wasted on someone who doesn't want what he has to offer.”

His chin tipped, his jaw flexing. “I've had enough upheaval in my life. I can barely take care of myself.” He spit out the words—angry, pained words—but by God, he was talking. “My wife has to help me off the damn toilet. The last thing she needs is to clean up after a dog, too.”

Had she pushed too hard? “We're two weeks in and you're backing out?”

“Now that the dog's going home with us?” He met her eyes for the first time, full of so much pain it swallowed every bit of sunshine. “Yes.”

She ached for him and all he'd suffered, but being soft on him wouldn't help him. Her hand clenched around the tennis ball. “The sooner you complete your therapy, the sooner I'll leave you alone.”

“That's blackmail.”

“It's a fact.”

He pounded his fist on his remaining leg. “Facts of my life are pretty much shit.”

“Yes, they are.”

He glanced up in shock. “You agree?”

“Of course. There's no denying you've suffered. Enormously.” She kept her voice neutral. It was a fine line to walk, empathy without any trace of what he might construe as pity, all while pushing him forward. “And the facts are that things will be shittier if you curl up and quit.”

He laughed hoarsely. “I thought therapists weren't supposed to curse.”

Normally that would be true, but she'd gotten his attention. “Where did you hear that?”

“I assumed.”

“Rather than having to assume, here are some facts for you to mull over. You have a wife. You have a son. You may be able to chase off your wife. That's between the two of you.” Marriage was tough. She knew that well enough. “But you have a duty to your son. And right now his life is pretty shitty, too.”

Mary Hannah dropped the tennis ball in his lap. “You're not helpless. Now pick up that ball and throw it for the dog—and for your son.”